Jaachi Writes

POEM 90: FLAWED She may not pride in a thousand strenghts Nor blow her horn so loud for all to hear. She is flawed made of clay and unrefined steel a female of definitions of style of reason of smiles and shades of black. Humble, she is, strong enough. She's got a ton of flaws: Her heart, a mess, yet pure. Her soul as fine  as a baby's smile. She's flawed yet beautiful in every form. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

Scars Before Scarlet Art thou turned away at the door- Thy pilgrim journey cursed with misadventure? Doth goodness against thee shy like the mimosa? Is thine head bowed that thou canst not name the stars? Seest thou thine maker a foe? Dost thou vengefully His breast stab with hateful sin? Art thou at sea in thy tears without an oar? Waitest thou for His voice to call thee out upon the waters with Him? Thou passion flower, grace-forsaken Smothered by sunshine, poisoned by rain Thou whom no bee findeth worthy to weave a love poem But the grasshoppers that seeketh thee in the garden. This way knoweth the stars that shine above And every man praised a demi-god on fair pages That the lamb's story is greatest that escaped the pack of wolves Knoweth thee not the path to Beulah is Hades? Thou art inexcusable O child of destiny! Arise thou feeble soul and lit thy cold torch O matador! There rages no bull in the ring but thee Those voices in thine head I bid thee hush. Behold now with gl

Building and Sustaining a Career Within the Voice Industry:  For The Aspiring Spoken Word Poet The world of voice over is an extremely competitive industry and to build and sustain a career requires a lot of time and commitment. Whether you are a novice or a veteran, this article will provide the tips you need. Keep in mind that simply reading these pointers is useless if you don’t apply them to your career.  Also remember it is important to make time for your family and friends too. Without a personal life you are less likely to succeed. Read regularly If you want to become a writer you must read regularly. The same rule applies to being a regular speaker. It is crucial to build your reading skills so take time out of your day to read out loud for two to three hours. If you are not used to doing this you will require more re-takes which will cost your client time and money. Find your niche Due to the popularity of the Internet there is more competition than ever in the voice acting pr

POEM 91: I KNOW A CARPENTER I know a Carpenter,  He once walked this land. From birth they sought to end his life - The Carpenter's son who was to mend their lives - He sought refuge in Africa. On his return, He healed their sick He raised their dead: Work-worn Carpenter's son, seared and scarred. He smeared love on the big and small. I know a carpenter once, he died, from nail holes in his heart and side. He bled, they scorned He cried, they scoffed He dangled from a wooden cross Mediating between man and God. And when he bowed his head submitting to His redemptive will, mankind earned mercy he don't merit. I know a Carpenter, when He dies. His hands tell a tale of pure passion,  His say, "I gave you life on Easter Day."  "Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.  And Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord and my God.  Jesus saith

MY JESUS, THE CRUCIFIED They spit upon His meekness, and struck Him in the face. They swung their whips with hatred and stripped Him in disgrace. Deep worked the Roman anger that tortured Him, a Jew. Yet this His groaning contemplation: “They know not what they do.” Just few days away When He rode an ass to town, His people cheered “Hosanna,” now they want Him crucified. How deadly their hatred and demonic jealousy. They freed the bandit Barabbas; to sentence Him, the Christ. He hung outside their city, where all Rabbi mocked Him too; Yet with this hurt, He whispered: “I'll give my life for you.” No angels came to help Him when He cried "why forget me, El?" He called on God the Father but heaven too, was in pain. The Devil tried to reach Him Through every lie in hell. He mocked and made the victory sign, Lucifer the soon to lose. Unthinkable the anguish God Father crushed the Son. In pain He whispered a firm conviction: “Thy will, not mine, be done.” No selfishness, no

POEM 89: HOPE HAS FEATHERS As I travel through life there always are times when choices though hard but decisions must be made I stare at solutions with frank stare the clouds gather over my eyes the rain seems to soak my parade yet I put up a genuine charade flap the wings of hope and fly. As high as hope might seem there are some situations where all I can do  is simply let go and move on,  gather my frail courage and choose a direction  that carries me in the mercy of the wind toward a new dawn; my wings I stay and spread as I fly effortless. I pack up my troubles in a single sigh and take a glide forward with a knowing smile. The process of change can be tough,  but all I think about as I fly is the excitement that lies ahead. Hope has feathers,  if flies me to adventures never imagined  just waiting around the next bend. There where the tunnel is darkest a smiling silver line lingers longing for me. Wishes and dreams just about to come true  in ways I can't yet comprehend. Hop

Spoken word is written on a page but performed for an audience. It relies on a heavy use of rhythm, improvisation, rhymes, word play, and slang. Spoken Word is writing that is meant to be read out loud. Some examples of spoken word you might be familiar with are stories, poems, monologues, slam poetry, rap and even stand-up comedy. When writing a spoken word piece use words and phrases that project onto the minds of the listeners like vivid images, sounds, actions and other sensations. If your poem is rich with imagery, your listeners will see, smell, feel and maybe even taste what you’re telling them. I was first introduced to spoken-word by a friend during my stay in Owerri, the capital city of Imo State, Nigeria. I fell in love with it, so I looked up any spoken word pieces on Youtube . One of the first people I have ever listened to was Dylema, Rhetorics, Hosanna Poetry and couple Nigerian spoken word artistes like Graciano, Paul Word and Samurai. They've been favorite poets ti

Night Song Lamps burnt like homespun stars; Stars threatened by the blustery. The rain passed by our huts And we smelt her perfumed tailwind. And ah how it intoxicates Mama with memories! Memories we can only imagine. She has held our arms walking through the rutted memory lane But we were children Ravished by our dreams Like snakes to a charmer's pipe... And her tears will flow Into a boundless sea We sailed on to dreamland. She knew we did not understand. With her eyes at papa's grave She'll hear Inspiration Giving her the endless lyric of life To our night songs We failed to find depth in Until we got into her shoes And our sons slept Halfway through a line of our lullabies. - Martins  Deep

POEM 88: HOMELESS With words I built castles on your love. Work's done But you're gone #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA

Threnody: For An Old World War Soldier My arm has become too feeble- To lift and wave the flag-pole. Too weak to manly grab the sword. Too numb to feel the trigger of the riffle. Home so distant : bullet closer to my heart. No lover. Mother dead. Except brownie my three-legged cat. I seek solitude on an old bible for warmth. I am pained to my bones for the light I never got in my youth. The stars twinkle no more to invite- My youthful limbs to the heights. My prided rank has turned sour. There is no bet on me for the evening fights. The voice of the grave now within earshot Cold and dreadful its call like a dark poet's. There is no future to pursue or dream on. Except as it is believed; my spirit will fly from this house of dust. They'll sing a favourite hymn of mine- And etch an epitaph with an elegiac rhyme. My corpse shall teach the transcience of life. And this shall I attain; to be alive in their hearts for a season and time. - Martins O'Deep

LIGHTS OUT Prologue: The Cinema was set new movie, we're both excited to be casts and scriptwriters We cuddled and relished this movie Scene One: Strangers crossed paths but couldn't just pass. She winked and waved and stole your breath. You stopped to stare and gasp for air. Butterflies, Spark of lights. Scene Two: On a parched wasteland you laid the foundation. With broken bricks you built erotic walls. 'My this'- then kisses 'My that' - then cloud nine.  'My everything' - you both lied. Scene Three: Stranger on your bed You wonder how you met. You were too busy being hers to fall for someone new Maybe you never knew twil hurt this much to be hers. Scene Four: Today your forest is dark The trees are sad and all the butterflies have broken wings. Epilogue: Two by two, they all filed in all shades of 'forever yours'. But when the movie came to an end they crawl on all fours unpaired; she takes the right he owns the wrong. No sweet songs from the

ACEworld Online Magazine  is currently receiving entries from poets all across the globe. The goal of the contest is to appreciate the artistic brilliance of who can best interpret that movie, Black Panther. It remains a notable fact that one of the problems Africans have ever had is the inability to create forward looking ideologies. We always think of the past. The crops of politicians today have no ambition to change the continent. Just their pockets and cliques. This is why the movie has and will always be a very first and great feat at rewriting the history of Africa. Black Panther is a stern rebuke of history. Eligibility: 1. Poet must be either born or a resident of Africa. 2. Must have watched the movie, Black Panther. Guidelines: 1. Poem must not be less than 10 lines and more than 21 lines. That is, poem should be between 10 to 21 lines. 2. Send your entry to  submission@myacewor­ld.net  strictly writing the subject in this format  (your name_Wakanda: Rewriting Africa | Examp

POEM 86: THE BARD They said, No one knew why all his verses were sad and written under the Moon's silvery stares, in the darkest hours of the night when bats and owls glide about hooting and awakening ghosts. They said, No one knew why he squats in a corner of the room breathing in the fumes of candlelight like sweet smelling savour Musing... Lost in a distant thought, Eyes bloodshot, A cup of coffee black and bitter waiting to crawl down his empty stomach where words are rung out through the anus of inquisition. Somewhere faraway, a book of his verses, tucked away under the pillow of lonely and sad girl, Whispered answers into the ears of cold walls Of battles he fought, Of her never ending cold wars with depression. There, his book of books lie assimilated into her teary eyes: It's rough edges It's damp pages It's littered letters laid out on lean lines Dangling  Struggling It said,  "He came He saw He concurred" They said, No one knew why his verses were al

POEM 85: BLACK PANTHER He is always afraid, Looking over his shoulder. Envied by fellow slaves Hated by his master.  Tormented at whim. He sometimes wonder  What killed his spirit? Who stole his origin? Who retold his story? Yet, he hopes to grow fangs and prey on his master He dreams of freedom though freedom's elusive. Or perhaps an Illusion for at every turn it fades. Lost in a cloud of smokes Lost all shades of hope. Imprisoned in a mental jail Where he gyms only to wishes. Growing mental biceps  to counter their lies. Building mental resistance to ambush their pranks. Nurturing divine wrath Stalling and waiting for dawn A dawn of hope When his grown claws Shall tear the Master's flesh. But will it ever come? Though destitute,  Alone, shackled to a nightmare that plagues his days with uncertainties. Chained with loose bands of fear, He's slowly beating back fear. For freedom he pants from the crescent and star. But just above the hills Is another master who bleeds From

POEM 84: CHASING SHADOWS He was shod with confidence And girded with faith But just below his belt Was doubt lying in wait. He walked shoulder high Aye! Heads over clouds Assured he will come Through with just a thrust. So on he sauntered Speeding past him, then her. Wind sweeping pass his face As he joined the race... Chasing shadows of wishes Down a lane of lilies He could pick up victory aroma Blue boy is just a dreamer, Whose dreams are empty wishes Running on a thin blue line thistles His soul in a shoe of pebbles Racing against time hurdles. He's been running from here to there Chasing shadows everywhere. But how can a blue boy reach the finish line Running against time. Laboured breathing He races on, panting. If blue boy couldn't run with they that walk How can he walk With they that race on horses? #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Please leave a comment below on the comment box below.  

POEM 83 : SOMETIMES Sometimes decisions are easy to make Sometimes, you are blank of ideas Sometimes, confusion creeps in Especially with the matters of the heart. Sometimes, I feel I shouldn't. Sometimes, I just do it. Sometimes, I think it's right But, all I get is a broken beart. Sometimes, the tunnel pitch dark Sometimes, my heart seems blank Sometimes, I want to take it back Sometimes I take a deep dive. Sometimes, they come and they go Sometimes, they stay like a home. Sometimes, I'm left all alone. Sometimes, they come in a whole. I tend to love it all, The love, the care, the laughter, the tears. Like a lass in love,  Blue boy only nods to their alluring quest. #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Please leave a comment below on the comment box below.

LETTER FROM AN ABORTED CHILD To-be but couldn't-be Mother!  do you know how it feels To thrust a hot iron into the heart of one that's how much pain I feel For you didn't just end my life but also shattered my dreams.  Is it my Fate to end this way Or there is no other way I could live Perhaps I mistakenly got into you I wanted the best life for us to fulfil my dreams and I craved  for a mother who would be my backbone instead , you detached me from your bone You whispered that minute You can't wait to have me removed  because I bring shame to you  that a life without me is best Mother, I found warmth in your womb I cling to you because I love you Even though you detest the signs of me When God gave me the news that I'm going into the world I asked Him to reduce your pains to make me as beautiful as you and to bring comfort to our lives You brought me so much aches though you'll always be my mother Mama, should I try again Not fulfilled dream I've got on my

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable.